>HEAF    0P    P0EMS 


GE0RGE     PERRY 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW   YORK  LONDON 

27  West  Twenty-third  St.  24  Bedford  St.,  Strand 

Sbf  litucherbotktr  |jrcss 
1894 


COPYRIGHT,  1894 

BY 
ROLAND    HINTON    PERRY 


Electrotyped,  Printed  and  Bound  by 

T£be  ftnicftcrbocfjcr  press,  Hew 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


THIS  "SHEAF  OF  POEMS,"  THE  AFTERMATH  OF  A  LIFE 
DEVOTED  TO  LARGE  IDEALS,  IS  DEDICATED  TO 

MRS.   BLOOMFIELD  MOORE 

IN  GRATEFUL  RECOGNITION  OF  HER  APPRECIATION  OF  MY 
LATE  HUSBAND,  AND  IN  MEMORY  OF  HIS  ADMIRATION  OF  HER 
PHILOSOPHIC  BREADTH  AND  ELEVATION  OF  THOUGHT  AND 
HER  SELF-CONSECRATION  TO  THE  HIGHER  INTERESTS  OF 
HUMANITY,  BY 

IONE  HINTON  PERRY 


CONTENTS. 


I'AGE 

INTRODUCTORY vii 

EUCLID,  PROBLEM  I       .......  i 

A  VOICE 7 

IN  THE  CASTLE  OF  LUFTWICH       .....  13 

ACROSS  THE  DESERT     .......  19 

EXULTEMUS  .........  27 

HASTE,  O  ANGEL  ........  29 

STAY  IN  THE  ROSY  SKIES 31 

THE  SEA'S  PRAYER 33 

A  PROMENADE 35 

JUDGMENT  HYMN 41 

THE  PHALANSTERY 47 

A  SUMMER  DREAM 59 

THE  SHOON 73 

SHADOWS  OF  ROMANCE 79 

UNCREATED  LIGHT 83 

ALONE 85 

^ENONE 89 

THE  SACRAMENT  OF  LOVE     ......  93 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PACK 

SONG  OF  KILCARE  COTTAGE  ...  99 

SUNBEAM  AND  ROSE      .......  105 

WHEN  Do  THE  FLOWERS  DIE 107 

FIRST  OF  THE  YELLOW  LEAVES 109 

THE  BRAVE  OLD  BANNER      .        .         .         .        .         .  in 

"  LIBERTY  ENLIGHTENING  THE  WORLD  "     .        .        .115 

IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  SHADOWS i  ig 

SIVA,  DESTROYER 125 

TRIBUTES  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  GEORGE  PERRY     .        .  131 


INTRODUCTORY. 

(From  the  "Home  Journal"  of  Wednesday, 
November  21,  1888.) 

The  Home  Journal  is  confronted  to-day  with  the 
sad  duty  of  announcing  to  its  readers  the  death  of 
Mr.  George  Perry  who,  for  many  years,  has  presided 
over  its  literary  departments.  The  effacement  of  his 
name  from  its  familiar  place  under  the  title-heading 
of  the  Journal  is  a  mournful  necessity.  And  the 
pity  of  it  is  all  the  more  because  Mr.  Perry  seemed 
to  be  endowed  with  a  bodily  constitution  that, 
though  he  had  reached  his  sixty-first  year,  gave 
assurance  of  still  a  goodly  number  of  years  of  effec- 
tive work  either  as  editor  or  in  that  scholarly  retire- 
ment to  which  he  looked  forward. 

The  illness,  ultimating  in  consumption,  of  which 
he  died,  was  induced  probably  by  exposure  to  the 
severe  storm  of  last  spring  which  he  was  obliged  to 


viii  INTRODUCTORY. 

face  for  a  long  distance  in  regaining  his  home  after 
an  ineffectual  effort  to  reach  the  Home  Journal  office. 
The  first  effect  of  this  exposure  was  an  apparent  ex- 
citation of  health  and  spirits.  But  a  few  weeks  later 
a  low  feverish  condition  set  in  attended  with  a  cough 
which,  not  being  ascribed  to  any  deep-seated  dis- 
order, was  neglected.  Mr.  Perry,  notwithstanding 
his  gradually  failing  strength,  and  notwithstanding 
the  solicitations  of  his  friends  and  associates,  per- 
sisted in  his  editorial  work  until,  toward  the  end  of 
June,  he  left,  according  to  his  custom,  for  a  summer 
outing  in  the  Berkshire  Hills,  expecting  to  renew 
there,  as  in  former  years,  some  measure  of  the  vital 
energy  expended  in  the  work  of  the  year.  The 
sunlight  and  air  and  freedom  of  the  Berkshires  did 
not,  however,  have  their  usual  effect  upon  him  ;  his 
strength  steadily  failed.  Returning  to  the  city  a 
few  weeks  ago,  he  was  making  preparations  to  leave 
for  a  winter  in  the  South,  when  death  intervened. 
During  this  gradual  decadence  of  his  vital  powers 
Mr.  Perry  always  talked  encouragingly,  and  in  a 
quiet  matter-of-fact  way,  of  his  recovery  of  health 
and  vigor,  as  if  apparently  he  felt  it  a  duty  to  give 


INTRODUCTORY.  ix 

nature  "  the  benefit  of  a  doubt,"  and  not  at  least 
oppose  her  in  any  recuperative  effort  that  she  may 
have  held  in  reserve.  But  it  was  evident  that  there 
was  an  undercurrent  of  feeling  reflecting  the  shadow 
of  approaching  death,  and  that  he  did  not  turn  away 
but  was  ready  to  accept  this  issue  with  philosophic 
calmness. 

That  in  the  quiet  of  Berkshire  Hills  such  at 
times  was  the  secret  tenor  of  his  thoughts  is  shown 
by  the  following  poem  which  he  had  pencilled  on  a 
stray  bit  of  paper,  and  which  was  found  among  the 
papers  at  his  bedside  : 

SIVA,  DESTROYER. 

Whose  voice  shall  say  him  nay? 
Whose  arm  shall  bar  his  way  1 
Lord  of  unbounded  sway  ! — 
Siva,  Destroyer. 

Proud  kings,  whose  lightest  breath 
To  men  is  life  or  death, 
Heeds  he  your  ruth  or  wrath  1 — 
Siva,  Destroyer. 


INTRODUCTORY. 

Mother  with  bleeding  breast 
Bowed  o'er  thy  birdling's  nest, 
Shall  thy  last  woe  arrest 
Siva,  Destroyer  ? 

Maiden  with  eyes  of  love 
Fixed  on  the  heaven  above, 
Hast  thou  a  prayer  to  move 
Siva,  Destroyer  ? 

Youth  of  the  lion  heart, 
Brave  for  life's  noblest  art, 
Shall  fame's  fair  glory  thwart 
Siva,  Destroyer  ? 

Earth  in  thy  sweet  array, 
Bride  of  celestial  day, 
Hast  thou  one  bloom  to  stay 
Siva,  Destroyer? 

Stars  on  the  dome  of  night, 
Climbing  to  your  far  height 
Do  ye  escape  his  might  ? — 
Siva,  Destroyer. 

What  voice  shall  say  him  nay, 
What  arm  shall  bar  his  way. 
Lord  of  unbounded  sway ! — 
Siva,  Destroyer. 


IN  TROD  UC  TOR  Y.  xi 

These  are  noble  verses,  tuned  to  a  majestic  cadence, 
borne  along  upon  a  deep  groundswell  of  feeling, 
noble  and  strong  in  their  terse  simplicity.  But  it 
would  be  an  error  to  infer  from  their  subject  and 
tenor  that  Mr.  Perry  lacked  faith  in  that  All-Life, 
in  the  light  of  which  the  shadows  of  destruction 
are  ever  absorbed  and  lost.  Mr.  Perry  was  a  be- 
liever in  the  Over-Soul  and  in  the  persistence  of 
life  ;  for  him  death  was  not  entitled  to  the  name 
of  a  reality.  And  this  his  faith  was  not  due  to  the 
force  of  early  teaching,  to  derived  associations  of 
thought  ;  it  was  not  that  faith  which  was  worn  as 
an  external  habit  of  mind  ;  it  was  a  part,  and  the 
most  radical  part,  of  his  nature  ;  it  had  more  the 
character  of  an  insight  than  a  faith. 

He  was  a  man  of  the  antique  oriental  type — to 
those  who  could  understand  and  appreciate  him  a 
unique  personality  in  this  our  latter-day  world  ;  to 
him  the  shows  of  the  world,  the  procession  of 
events,  were  but  the  filmy  clouds  on  the  surface  of 
life,  a  magnificent  phantasmagoria  for  the  entertain- 
ment of  the  soul.  But  this  underlying  thought  did 
not  prevent  him,  especially  after  he  had  hardened 


xii  IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y. 

himself  to  the  work  of  life,  from  taking  a  practical 
interest  in  the  questions  of  the  day  so  far  as  they 
affected  the  higher  culture,  nor  from  engrafting 
upon  an  instinctive  conservatism  the  most  progres- 
sive views,  as  the  many  articles  from  his  pen  during 
the  twenty  or  more  years  of  his  editorship  have 
borne  testimony.  And  yet  through  all  there  ran 
the  qualifying  note  of  the  orientalist — it  is  but  a 
play  in  which  I  am  taking  part  ;  these  shows  and 
questionings  are  remote  from  the  "  me  "  which  is 
my  real  life — albeit  I  must  do  my  work,  and  speak 
my  piece  as  an  actor  in  the  scene,  obedient  to  the 
call-bell  of  the  stage  manager  Time. 

Mr.  Perry  was  born  in  Richmond,  a  township  in 
western  Berkshire,  Mass.,  bordering  on  the  New 
York  State  line.  He  came  of  an  old  New  England 
stock  which  has  given  distinguished  sons  to  the 
service  of  the  republic.  The  family  homestead  in 
which  he  first  saw  the  light  was  situated  near  the 
base  of  what  is  known  as  Perry's  Peak,  from  which 
one  of  the  grandest  views  in  the  Berkshire  Hills  is 
seen.  He  who  now  writes  this  tribute  to  the  mem- 
ory of  his  friend  recalls  as  one  of  his  most  cherished 


IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y.  xiii 

remembrances  a  brief  visit  at  his  friend's  home, 
when  he  was  guided  by  him  through  winding  ways 
to  this  mountain-top.  It  was  at  the  period  of  early 
manhood,  when  life  itself  was  an  ascent  to  be 
climbed,  and  every  upward  step  revealed  an  enlarged 
horizon  and  gave  an  intenser  exhilaration.  Surely 
no  grander  entertainment  could  a  man  offer  his 
friend  than  this,  and  in  such  an  ascent  where  could 
one  find  a  more  fit  companion  than  him  we  mourn 
to-day  ?  He  was  by  nature  native  to  the  mountain 
tops,  a  soul  that  satisfied  itself  only  with  the  largest 
compass  of  view,  the  completest  sweep  of  sky,  and 
the  sun's  fullest  flood  of  light. 

Mr.  Perry  was  graduated  at  Williams  College  at 
a  time  when  the  wave  of  New  England  transcen- 
dentalism was  still  at  its  height.  The  Brook  Farm 
venture  had  indeed  collapsed,  but  youthful  disciples 
of  the  new  school  still  dreamed  their  dream  of  an 
ideal  social  life.  Soon  after  his  college  days  Mr. 
Perry  joined  the  "  North  American  Phalanx,"  a 
community  established  in  Monmouth  County,  New 
Jersey,  where  it  held  a  domain  of  some  seven 
hundred  acres  ;  made  up  in  part  of  representatives 


xiv  IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y. 

of  the  idealism  of  Brook  Farm,  but  in  much  greater 
part  of  practical-minded  people,  with  a  considerable 
infusion  of  that  class  which  is  neither  idealistic  nor 
practical,  but  has  crochets  and  angles  of  belief  and 
character  which  make  it  difficult  for  them  to  find  a 
comfortable  place  for  themselves  in  the  world  at 
large.  The  Phalanx  for  a  few  years  grew  in  strength 
and  flourished,  but  finally  after  a  protracted  strug- 
gle, long  after  the  spirit  that  had  inspired  its  for- 
mation had  died  out,  went  the  way  of  all  similar 
communities  that  are  not  held  together  by  some 
religious  bond,  thereby  giving  testimony  to  the 
truth  that  society,  whether  on  a  small  or  a  large 
scale,  can  only  be  sustained  by  some  principle  or 
faith  higher  than  self-interest. 

Amid  this  community  in  its  earliest  and  best  days 
Mr.  Perry  spent  two  or  three  years  of  his  life, 
dividing  his  time  between  the  labors  of  the  farm  or 
garden  and  the  prosecution  of  his  favorite  studies, 
reading  the  poets  and  philosophers  and  dreaming 
out  for  himself  some  solution  of  the  great  world- 
problem.  On  leaving  the  Phalanx,  after  a  few 
months  spent  at  his  Berkshire  home,  Mr.  Perry 


IN  TROD  UCTOR  Y.  XV 

came  to  New  York  to  try  his  fortunes  in  literature  ; 
he  came,  as  other  young  men  have  come  before, 
with  a  manuscript  roll  of  poems  in  his  hand,  seeking 
a  publisher.  He  did  not  succeed  in  this,  but  grad- 
ually adapting  himself  to  the  kind  of  literary  work 
in  demand — though  not  without  a  strong  effort  of 
will  and  under  the  pressure  of  necessity,  for  his 
nature  was  inherently  idealistic  and  his  mind  busied 
itself  with  themes  remote  from  the  common  interest 
— he  succeeded  in  pushing  his  way  in  the  literary 
field.  His  essays  were  received  with  special  favor 
by  the  late  Mr.  Willis,  and  gained  for  him  the  post 
of  assistant  editor  of  the  Home  journal,  and  on 
the  death  of  Mr.  Willis  he  succeeded  to  the  literary 
editorship  of  the  paper  and  eventually  acquired  a 
part  ownership  in  it.  That  is  now  some  twenty  odd 
years  ago. 

We  have  little  left  to  say.  The  ability,  force  and 
elevation  of  his  mind  have  made  themselves  felt  in 
leading  articles  on  literary  and  social  topics  and 
in  various  departments  of  criticism.  Though  well 
known  in  literary  circles  and  highly  esteemed,  he 
lived  a  somewhat  recluse  life,  the  life  of  the  scholar 


X  VI  IN  TROD  UC  TOR  Y. 

and  thinker.  There  is  one  group  of  literary  people 
who  will  especially  feel  his  loss,  the  later  choir  of 
poets.  Of  those  who  in  recent  years  have  acquired 
distinction  in  the  poetical  field  not  a  few  owe  to 
Mr.  Perry  not  only  their  introduction  to  the  public 
but  valuable  critical  help  and  counsel.  Mr.  Perry 
was  himself  a  born  poet  of  subtle  and  profound 
imagination,  if  not  of  varied  range  and  versatile 
facility,  and  those  who  knew  him  best  will  always 
regret  that  the  hard  conditions  of  life  did  not  leave 
him  free  scope  for  the  exercise  of  his  genius  in  the 
direction  marked  out  by  his  nature. 

Our  friend  and  associate's  death — so  we  call  it  in 
our  human  parlance — occurred  on  Thursday,  No- 
vember 1 5th.  On  the  following  Saturday  the  mortal 
form  by  which  he  was  recognizable  to  our  human 
sense  was  committed  to  earth  in  the  burial  ground 
of  his  fathers  in  Canaan  Cemetery,  N.  Y.,  a  few 
miles  from  the  Berkshire  home  of  his  youth. 

And  so  for  him  have  passed  the  world  and  its 
shows. 

H.  H. 


A   SHEAF   OF   POEMS. 


EUCLID,  PROBLEM  I. 

Unto  those  who  rightly  seek 
What  the  wise  and  subtle  Greek 
In  his  symbols  has  concealed, 
Is  the  lore  of  gods  revealed  : 

Centred  on  the  line's  extremes, 

Twain  embracing  circles  draw, 
Unto  which  this  line  shall  be, 

Bond  and  limitary  law. 
From  their  hearts  two  rays  unite, 

Where  the  curves  each  other  meet 
They  are  peers  in  birth  and  state, 

They  the  perfect  Trine  complete. 


EUCLID,   PROBLEM  I. 

Thus  are  we  but  empty  lines, 
Light  nor  beauty  has  our  life — 

Shallow,  narrow,  stretching  on, 
Long  its  futile  toil  and  strife — 

Till  around  our  hearts  are  drawn 

Circles  of  the  love  of  man, 
In  whose  arches  we  may  find, 

Life's  true  measurement  and  span  ; 

In  whose  arches  we  may  see, 

Beauteous  forms  that  ever  shine, 

Forms  that  can  from  chaos  lead 
Up  to  symmetry  divine  ; 

'Neath  whose  arches  we  may  build 
Our  life's  pathway  straight  and  wide, 

Whereon  struggling  man  shall  find 
Heavenly  furtherance  and  guide  ; 

By  whose  arches  we  may  rear, 
Thought  and  deed  in  noble  trines, 

Which  forever  shall  endure, 
Fortresses  to  man,  and  shrines. 


EUCLID,   PROBLEM  I. 

Let  the  shining  bands  enlarge  ! 

Ever  widening,  till  we  find, 
In  their  clear,  unselfish  light, 

Godlike  worth  in  all  mankind. 


A  VOICE. 

Mortal  !  heaven's  towers 
Frowning  o'er  thy  pathway  stand, - 

Up  the  terror-guarded  ramparts  ! 

Like  the  dauntless  Morn  ascend  ! 

Hear  thy  godlike  spirit  ! 

Raze  the  walls  of  blinding  Awe  ! 
Be  thou  all  thy  soul  can  image  ! 
Pass  the  Ban,  and  Curse,  and  Thrall  ! 

Tempt  yon  airy  regions  ! 

Yonder  fathomless  Profound 
Will  become  to  thee  as  steadfast 
As  this  narrow  sky-girt  land. 

No  Abyss  infernal 

Can  detain  thy  venturing  feet, — 
Ne'er  to  him  that  seeks  the  Truthful, 
Shuts  the  unrelenting  Gate. 

7 


A    VOICE. 

Crags,  nor  gnawing  Vultures, 
Chains  nor  loneliness  can  cower, 

If  thy  soul  but  see  the  glory 

Of  the  realms  it  may  rule  o'er. 

Guides,  but  never  Masters, 
Thee  can  bring  to  starry  spheres — 
Never  crouching  slaves  can  enter 
Realms  to  which  the  Soul  aspires. 

In  thy  own  free  Spirit 
Find  thy  holy,  only  rule  ! — 
Earth  and  heavens  are  barred  and  bolted 
To  the  soul  that  bows  in  thrall. 

Unto  lowest  nature, 
Thou  art  now  a  very  god — 
Past  the  highest  thrones  supernal, 
Leads  thy  upward,  endless  road. 

In  those  loftier  heavens, 

Thy  poor  Pride  and  Self-regard 

Shall  all  die, — Love's  voices  only 

In  those  harmonies  are  heard. 


A    VOICE.  II 

Up  !  thy  mortal  brother 
Bearing  on  thy  dauntless  heart, 
Till  his  weak,  unsteady  footsteps 
Touch  the  Eternal  Fields  of  Light. 

Down  thy  conquering  pathway, 
Through  the  razed  and  rifted  walls, 
Heaven's  crystal  floods  outpouring 
Shall  redeem  Earth's  deepest  hells. 

Hear  thy  godlike  Spirit ! 

Rise  !  and  know  thy  boundless  might, 
Up  !  thou  conqueror,  creator  ! 
Take  thy  rightful  Throne  and  State  ! 


IN    THE    CASTLE    OF    LUFTWICH. 

Unbar  the  castle  gate, 
Let  now  the  bugle  sound, 

A  thousand  swordsmen  wait, 

Their  chargers  spurn  the  ground. 

The  booming  peals  that  roll 
From  yonder  flashing  plain 

Awake  the  dreaming  soul 
To  fullest  life  again. 

The  Soul  has  now  its  birth  ! 

I  feel  its  boundless  might 
Cope  with  the  deep-set  Earth, 

And  touch  the  spheres  of  light ! 

I  scale  the  heights  of  life, 
Beyond  the  clouds  of  fear  ! 

I  'm  freed  in  noble  strife  !  — 
Freedom  is  only  here  ! 
13 


IN  THE   CASTLE   OF  LUFTWICH.  15 

Long  by  the  stream  of  thought 

Vainly  the  Soul  has  stood — 
Within  its  depths  has  sought 

The  Beautiful,  the  Good  ; 

Till  the  mock'd  soul,  with  taunts, 
Cursed  heaven,  in  wrath  and  pain, 

Sent  with  so  godlike  wants 
Upon  Earth's  poor  domain. 

But  heaven  no  more  I  wait, 

Heaven's  might  is  in  my  heart  ! 

Of  all-decreeing  Fate, 
I  am  myself  a  part  ! 

And  worlds  I  sought  in  vain, 
Shall  rise  beneath  my  hand  ! 

Deeds  !  deeds  !  Fate's  iron  reign 
Bends  at  their  stern  command  ! 

I  hear,  O  man,  thy  march, 

Struggling  with  countless  foes, 

Move  up  the  shining  arch, 

With  strong  and  earnest  blows 


IN  THE   CASTLE   OF  LUFTWICH.  17 

And  heaven's  gates  shall  fall 

Before  thy  storming  hand, 
And  on  its  crystal  wall 

Thv  steadfast  feet  will  stand. 


ACROSS   THE  DESERT. 

Long  ago  we  started, 

Pilgrims  o'er  the  sand, 
Dauntless,  Titan-hearted, 
To  seek  the  Aidenn  land. 

Many  days  the  marches 
Sped  like  dreams  away  ; 

'Neath  the  mirage  arches 
The  desert  blooming  lay. 

Ever  when  the  sunbeams 
Shot  the  fiercest  down, 

O'er  the  fiery  sandbeams 
The  mirage  brightest  shone. 

Countless  were  the  treasures 
Stored  with  tireless  hand, 

Stored  for  glories,  pleasures, 
To  grace  the  Aidenn  land. 
19 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT.  21 

Many  days  the  marches 

Sped  like  dreams  away  ; 
'Neath  the  mirage  arches 

The  desert  blooming  lay. 

Years — but  still  no  Aidenn 

O'er  the  horizon  rose  ; 
Pilgrims,  sorrow-laden, 

Lay  down  in  death's  repose. 

Marches  ceased.     The  vision 

Like  the  day-star  fell  ; 
Naught  that  land  Elysian, 

But  Hope's  illuding  spell. 

On  our  sad  breasts  sinking 
Bowed  our  heads  in  shame, 

Of  that  glory  thinking, 

That  baseless  towering  dream. 

And  we  stood — all  laden 

With  life's  noble  spoil- 
Cheer  for  that  high  Aidenn, 

But  not  for  desert  toil. 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT.  23 

Mute  and  sternly  beating, 

Mused  our  hearts  beside 
Rivers  deep  and  fleeting, 

That  sought  the  ocean  tide  ; 

Gentle  blossoms  pressing 

Summer's  fiery  path 
Onward  to  the  blessing 

That  waiting  Autumn  hath  ; 

Winds,  with  rapid  pinions, 

Ever  sweeping  on 
Toward  the  bright  dominions 

Where  reigns  the  golden  sun  ; 

Saw  the  blessed  of  nature 

Robed  in  beauty  shine  ; — 
Germs  of  stunted  stature 

In  deserts  strive  and  pine. 

Long  the  fallen  arches 

Of  that  Titan  dream 
Threw,  o'er  hurrying  marches, 

Their  bright,  bewildering  gleam. 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT.  25 

But  no  more  the  marches 

Sped  like  dreams  away, 
And  the  mirage  arches 

Made  not  the  desert  gay. 

Now  a  larger  heaven 

Bends  above  us  here, 
From  our  eyes  are  driven 

The  mists  of  faith  and  fear. 

See  we  all  things  clearly, 

Hoping,  fearing  none, 
Living,  acting,  cheerly, 

As  lives  the  mighty  Sun. 

Here  is  youth  eternal, 

Time  and  self  are  naught. 
Life  for  ever  vernal 

In  the  great  world-plan  wrought. 

Night  and  twilight  hoary 

Faith  and  Hope  may  cheer, 
Till  they  die  the  glory 

Of  Noon  shall  not  appear. 


EXULTEMUS. 

Bacchus,  hail  !  we  drink  to  thee, 

Jocund  god  of  generous  pleasure  ! 
Earth  forget  and  heaven  see, 

Drinking  from  thy  purple  treasure. 
By  the  midnight  torches'  glare, 
Over  mountains  steep  and  hoar, 
O'er  the  leafy,  sounding  shore, 
Crowned  with  ivy,  thee  we  bear. 

Bacchus,  hail  !  we  drink  to  thee  ! 

Wreathe  the  goblet's  flashing  brim, 
Mirth  with  myrtle  crowned  and  Glee  ! 
Wildly  chant  the  midnight  hymn ! 
By  the  midnight  torches'  glare, 
Over  mountains  steep  and  hoar, 
O'er  the  leafy,  sounding  shore, 
Crowned  with  ivy,  thee  we  bear. 

Bacchus,  hail !  we  drink  to  thee  ! 
Shouting  till  the  hills  about, 
Hills  and  heavens  return  the  shout, 

Evoe,  Bacche,  triumphe  ! 

27 


HASTE,  O  ANGEL. 

What  dark  demon  hast  them  cherished, 

O  sad  Soul,  in  thy  endeavor 

To  transcend  the  deeps  that  sever 
Angels  from  the  lost  and  perished  ? 

What  dark  spirit  of  the  night 

Like  a  vulture  tracks  thy  flight ; 

Thou  by  youthful  visions  bidden 
To  explore  the  darksome  way, 

Over  seas  in  shadows  hidden, 

Over  continents  forbidden, 
To  the  bounds  of  Endless  Day  ? 

Back,  thou  fiend,  to  endless  night  ! 

Haste,  O  Angel,  haste  your  flight  ! 
Fold  your  perfume-laden  pinions 

O'er  my  weary,  aching  sight ! 

Guide  my  steps  from  out  this  night, 
Set  me  with  the  humblest  minions 
In  your  holy  pure  dominions. 
Guide  me  !  only  thus  can  mortals, 

Sore  beset  and  sorrow-laden, 
Ever  pass  the  blessed  portals, 

Ever  taste  the  bliss  of  Aidenn. 
29 


STAY  IN  THE  ROSY  SKIES. 

Stay  in  the  rosy  skies, 

Storm-troubled  clouds  ! 

Your  pitchy  folds  are  shrouds, 
And  wrap  the  sweet  and  closed  eyes. 

O  winds  of  parted  Springs, 
Your  desolate  wings 
Flap  through  the  hollow  night 
And  bear  life's  slain  delight. 

Sweep  o'er  the  sunny  vale, 

Mad  surging  flood, 
Below  your  war  and  wail 

Lie  slain  the  beautiful  and  good. 


THE   SEA'S    PRAYER. 

O  boundless,  star-eyed  Peace  ! 

Fulfil  my  wild  desire, 
And  bid  my  spirit  cease 

To  struggle  and  aspire  ! 

Yearning  I  stretch  my  hands, 
They  clasp  but  lifeless  sands  ; 
Stanvard  my  steps  I  bear, 
They  tread  but  empty  air. 

Ever  the  lifeless  sands, 

Ever  the  empty  air, 
Ever  the  yearning  hands, 

The  struggle  and  despair. 


33 


A   PROMENADE.. 

In  midwinter  I  was  stalking 
Down  a  proud  and  regal  street, 

Where  palatial  grandeur  only, 
Caught  the  echoes  of  my  feet. 

O'er  me  came  the  scene's  enchantment- 
Winter's  frost  I  felt  no  more  ; 

Crimson  day  from  silken  curtains 
Bathed  the  velvet-tufted  floor. 

In  the  soft,  luxurious  shimmer 
Languished  rare  exotic  blooms, 

And  the  streams  of  tropic  carols 
Rippled  through  the  thick  perfumes. 

Precious  ore,  and  stone,  and  crystal, 
Wool  and  silk  of  richest  dyes, 

Burned  along  the  walls  of  marble, 
Proudly  towering  in  the  skies. 

35 


A   PROMENADE.  37 

Art's  divine  prophetic  pencil 

There  surpassed  the  primal  birth, 

Wrought  the  grand  Promethean  visions 
That  shall  clothe  the  future  earth. 


What  this  wretched  throng  that  passes  ! 

Man  in  ruins  can  it  be  ? 
God  in  Heaven  !  what  impious  mortals 

Here  have  outraged  Man  and  Thee  ! 

O  ye  children  of  the  Father  ! 

Whence  have  come  your  wreck  and  spoil  ? 
Plundered,  famished,  blinded,  buried 

In  the  sepulchre  of  toil  ! 

O  down-trodden,  chilled,  embruted  ! 

Where  is  youth's  auroral  flight  ? 
Where  affection's  dewy  fragrance  ? 

Where  the  grace  of  manhood's  might  ? 


A    PROMENADE.  39 

Where,  poor  wretches,  is  the  fruitage 
That  from  earth  your  toil  has  won  ? 

Marble  homes  your  toil  has  builded — 
Lustrous  robes  your  toil  has  spun  ! 

Fires  of  Heaven  !  can  naught  more  gentle 
Than  your  burning,  blasting  tide, 

Sweep  from  earth  this  mad  oppression — 
Crush  this  damning  fratricide  ! 

No;  O  Mercy,  thou — thou  only, 
From  thy  high  celestial  home — 

Thou  alone  wilt  bid  these  fallen 
Unto  life's  rich  banquet  come. 


JUDGMENT  HYMN. 

Day  of  Love  !  that  day  of  glory 
Shall  redeem  this  chaos  hoary  ; 
Age  to  age  repeats  the  story. 

Oh,  what  joy  and  exultation 
When  Love  brings  the  full  creation 
To  its  high  adjudication  ! 

Night  shall  flee,  and  fear  infernal  ; 
Earth  before  its  Judge  eternal 
Shall  arise  in  light  supernal — 

Love,  the  scroll  of  life  unsealing — 
All  divining,  all  revealing, 
Night  and  Hell  no  more  concealing. 
41 


JUDGMENT  HYMN.  43 

Spheres  with  joy  will  thrill  and  tremble, 
All  the  tribes  of  men  assemble 
In  the  world-embracing  temple — 

Paeans  through  the  arches  ringing — 
Suns  like  burning  censers  swinging, 
Holy  airs  and  odors  flinging — 

And  like  sounds  of  seas  fraternal, 
Blent  and  borne  by  breezes  vernal, 
Shall  go  up  the  chant  eternal. 

When  that  day  shall  come  in  splendor, 
What  can  lips  of  mortal  render 
Of  the  joy  it  shall  engender  ? 

Thou  with  cloudless  splendor  burning  ! 

Unto  Thee  all  life  returning 

Yearns  with  deep  and  deeper  yearning. 

Thou  to  chaos  hast  descended — 
Suffered — conquered — and  ascended 
With  relumined  worlds  attended. 


JUDGMENT  HYMN.  45 

Thou  hast  judged  without  remission  : 
Sin  inherited  perdition  : 
Wisdom  followed  with  contrition. 

All  have  shared  the  high  salvation — 
And  as  one  the  vast  creation 
Chants  in  choral  exultation. 


THE  PHALANSTERY. 

I  see  before  me  now  that  stately  mansion 
In  the  bright  air,  above  the  woods  uprise, 

And  there  below  that  quiet  lake's  expansion 
Mirrors  the  shore  and  trees  and  azure  skies. 

Far  in  the  east  the  glowing  groves  of  peaches 
Wave  in  the  splendor  of  the  pulsing  air  ; 

The  Brisbane  hill,  the  long  and  level  reaches, 

The  Highland  peaks  and  dim  blue  sea  are  there. 

Westward  I  see  the  wheat  and  crimson  clover, 
Zoning  the  okro  blooms  and  gleaming  maize, 

The  Height  of  Ivenvor,  and  boundless  over 
Pours  the  imperial  sun's  resplendent  blaze. 

Up  from  the  glow  of  countless  sunny  acres, 
Out  from  seristery  and  court  and  hall, 

I  hear  the  songs  of  cheerful-hearted  workers 
With  the  inconstant  breezes  swell  and  fall. 
47 


THE  PHALANSTERY.  49 

There  in  the  silvery  forest's  broken  vistas, 
'Mid  the  broad  garden's  leafy  blooming  lines, 

I  see  my  brothers  and  my  peerless  sisters  : 
Their  starlike  glory  o'er  the  landscape  shines. 

Sweet  Inez  !  oh,  those  tender,  artless  graces 

Wake  my  hushed  heart  to  strange  forgotten  pain ; 

Time  only  veils  but  nevermore  effaces, — 
The  dear,  fair  dream  forever  must  remain. 

Nor  ruthless  Fate's  unchanging,  stern  decision, 
Nor  the  proud  glory  that  I  seek  and  win, 

Shrives  my  lorn  heart  of  that  regretful  vision 
Of  that  celestial  life  that  might  have  been. 

0  noble  Junia,  has  the  noon's  full  splendor 
Brought  the  fair  promise  of  thy  rosy  morn  ? 

Has  thy  great  soul  one  tribute  yet  to  render 
To  that  poor  fate  whereunto  thou  art  born  ? 

1  know  by  that  sweet  voice  and  beauteous  bearing, 

By  the  calm  greatness  of  thy  deep  blue  eyes, 
Still  in  its  low  estate  thy  soul  is  wearing 

The  undimmed  birthright  of  thy  native  skies. 


THE  PHALANSTERY.  51 

I  half  forget  the  years  and  their  wise  sadness, 
Hearing  the  chimes  of  romping  Ida's  voice  ; 

Sure,  Heaven  comes  down  to  such  immortal  glad- 
ness 
And  angels  with  sweet  envyings  rejoice. 

How  like  a  vision's  gorgeous  shadowy  coming 

The  white-browed  Otta  rises  on  my  sight ; 
How  darkly,  brightly,  those  great  orbs  are  roam- 


ing 


Oh  that  those  eyes  were  boundless  as  the  night ! 

How  fair  upon  her  forehead's  pearly  whiteness 
Winds  the  dim  shadow  of  her  dusky  hair  ! 

It  darkens  not  her  cheek's  translucent  brightness, 
The  crimson  waves  of  life  are  flashing  there. 

And  one  has  gone.     The  blue-eyed  grasses  cover 
Her  sweet,  green  pillow  in  the  oaken  glade. 

The  deep  still  summer-glow  around  and  over 
Shines  like  the  azure  gaze  of  Elferaide. 

How  eager  in  the  lists  of  young  ambition 
Haroder  strives  there  by  Ottilia's  side  ! 


THE  PHALANSTERY.  53 

She  has  fulfilled  the  vestal's  saintly  mission 
And  wears  the  star  and  crescent  of  a  bride. 

These  are  my  brothers.     I  have  found  that  union 
Only  with  them,  where  soul  may  talk  with  soul : 

A  segment  only  of  its  full  communion, 

Where  shall  the  longing  spirit  seek  the  whole  ? 

The  sun  from  out  the  cloudless  heights  of  azure 
Low  in  the  heaven  holds  his  conquering  way, 

O'er  the  broad  West  outrolls  the  vast  emblazure — 
The  earth  is  purpled  'neath  the  flaming  day. 

There  joyous  crews  upon  the  lake  are  rowing, 
And  many  a  group  along  its  margin  strolls, 

The  lonely  cornet  down  the  vale  is  blowing, 
The  vying  athletes  hurl  their  ponderous  bowls. 

Along  the  lawn,  among  the  locust  blossoms, 

Gay   laughing   childhood    sports    and   cheerful 
age  ; 

The  childly  games  yet  warm  the  aged  bosoms  ; 
Their  hearts  are  younger  as  their  souls  are  sage. 


THE  PHALANSTERY.  55 

The  night  has  come.     The  lighted  lamps  are  gloat- 
ing 

O'er  the  soft  splendor  of  those  lofty  halls  ; 
The  bugle's  swell  upon  the  nightwind  floating 

The  joyous  household  to  the  dance  recalls. 

The    countless   train    comes   thro'   the  columned 

portals, 
Bright    as    the    radiant    hosts    that    throng   the 

skies  ; 

In  snowy  light  move  by  the  young  immortals, 
The  mists  of  sorrow  dim  my  raptured  eyes. 

There  'neath  the  vasty  dome's  refulgent  ceiling 
Stands  like  a  sea  of  light  the  countless  tide  ; 

It  sways  beneath  the  music's  lofty  pealing  ; 
The  airy  undulations  surge  and  glide. 

How  noble  is  this  brotherhood,  how  glorious  ! 

Worthy  yon  starry  heavens  that  o'er  it  shine, 
Like  ye,  O  sweet  eternal  stars,  harmonious ; 

Ordered  like  ye  in  symmetry  divine  J 


THE   PHALANSTERY.  57 

How  thro'  the  long  and  weary  night  of  ages 
Has  earth-born,  erring,  heaven-aspiring  man 

Lifted  his  darkened  eyes  to  those  bright  pages, 
Vainly  their  golden  mysteries  to  scan. 

The  bells  begin  their  chimes.     The  Pleiad  sisters 
Have    sunk    beyond    the    mountain's    western 
height ; 

The  winds  sigh  in  the  forest's  darkened  vistas  ; 
The  sea's  low  moan  uprolls  upon  the  night. 


A  SUMMER  DREAM. 

When  the  blazing  sun  of  August 

Smote  the  mountain  aud  the  plain, 
Smote  them  till  each  living  creature 

Writhed  and  sunk  in  fiery  pain, 
I  betook  me  to  my  castle 

In  the  purple  hills  of  Spain. 
There,  in  restful,  dreamy  shadows, 

By  the  fountains'  murmurous  play, 
Sought  I  refuge  from  the  burning 

Vengeance  of  the  god  of  day. 
And  with  gentle  necromancies, 

With  a  subtler,  purer  fire, 
Strove  I  to  dispel  the  poison 

Of  this  withering,  wasting  ire, — 
Strove  to  quell  the  haunting  phantoms 

That  disturb  the  life  divine. 

"  Bring,"  I  cried,  "  the  mystic  flower, 
Nature's  secret  sign  and  power." 
59 


A    SUMMER  DREAM.  6 1 

And  they  brought  me  dreamy  pansies 

Drenched  in  dews  of  amber  wine  ; 
Blue-leaved  asters  from  the  mountains, 

Flecked  with  shining  stars  of  gold  ; 

Snow-bells  from  the  sunless  wold  ; 
Red-lipped  memories  reared  and  tended 

In  still  lanes  by  sun  and  stars  ; 
Dark  auroras,  dreamy,  splendid, 

Thrid  with  fiery  trails  and  bars — 
These  and  more,  till  all  the  room 
Glowed  with  rarest  bud  and  bloom. 

Up  from  stately  silver  vases 

Pearl-white  lilies  lofty  rose, 
And  the  amaranth's  rich  graces 

Touched  and  lit  their  proud  repose, 
While  with  airy  curl  and  hurtle 

Down  the  sculptured  silver  bases, 
Fell  and  swung  the  dusky  myrtle, 

Through  which  peered  the  fairy  faces 

Of  the  ruby  mignon  rose. 

O'er  the  glowing,  quaint  mosaic 
Of  the  quaintly  pictured  floor, 


A    SUMMER  DREAM.  63 

Writ  with  symbols  algebraic, 

Starry  signs  of  mystic  lore, 
Lay  in  heaps  the  lucent  laurel, 

Ivy,  palm  and  dismal  yew, 

Fragrant  balm  and  thyme  and  rue, 
True  love,  fickle  roving  lorel, 
Lime  and  humble  luckless  sorrel 

Tearful  with  the  night-born  dew  ; 
Lote  and  hallowed  passiflora, 

Circe,  fern,  and  asphodel, 
Regal  crocus  and  zenora, 
Sweet  madonna  and  rhodora, 
Almond,  musk  and  moschatel — 
Myriads  1  could  number  well, 
Myriads  that  I  could  not  tell. 

And  their  radiant,  pure  emblazure 
Of  each  hue  from  red  to  azure, 
With  the  rich  and  rare  perfume, 
Rose  upon  the  crystal  air, 
Rose  and  floated  till  the  room, 
Filled  with  this  aromal  mist, 
With  this  fine  ethereal  fire 


A    SUMMER  DREAM.  65 

Born  of  water,  wine  and  bloom, 
Pulsed  and  burned  like  amethyst. 

Through  these  glowing,  purple  seas, 
Sailed  resplendent  scarabees  ; 
From  their  glimmering  rapid  wings 
Rolled  the  air  in  flaming  rings  ; 

And  a  carol  quick  and  clear, 
Rising  from  the  fiery  springs 

Of  the  kindling  atmosphere, 
Flowed  with  circling,  certain  motion, 

Throwing  wide  the  trancing  rings 

Through  the  tremulous  swaying  room, 
Till  the  throbbing,  charmed  ocean 

Waved  and  shook,  and  every  bloom 
Breathed  and  quivered  with  emotion. 

Then  within  the  gorgeous  splendor, 

As  in  sunset  skies  remote, 
Rose  a  light,  mysterious,  tender, 

Like  the  dreamy  beaming  lote. 
Near  it  glowed,  more  near  and  certain, 

Fainter  fell  each  rippling  note  ; 


A    SUMMER  DREAM.  67 

Fainter,  dimmer  seemed  the  curtain 
Of  the  misty  fire  to  float. 

Touched  by  the  quick  lightning's  finger 
Suddenly  it  flashed  and  fell. 

Dim-seen  forms  I  scarce  could  tell, 

With  the  song's  low  close  and  swell, 
Seemed  to  sway  and  glide  and  linger, 
Seemed  to  float  and  soar  and  sail — 
Dim  and  distant  recognitions 
Of  celestial  apparitions 
Shining  through  the  air's  blue  veil. 

Ah,  that  I  could  once  regain 
Something  of  that  vanished  strain — 
That  weird  soul-song  and  refrain  ; 

Those  high  thoughts  and  inspirations  ; 

Those  transcendent  revelations  ! — 
Only  echoes  now  remain  ! 

"  In  the  many  is  but  one  : 
One  is  all,  all  is  one  : 


A    SUMMER  DREAM.  69 

Soul  and  life,  stone  and  star, 
High  and  low,  near  and  far  : 

One,  the  seer,  seen,  unseen, 
One  what  will  be,  is,  hath  been. 

Knowing  this  we  are  freed 

From  the  thrall  of  thought  and  deed  ; 

In  this  wisdom  rise  above 
Pleasure,  pain,  hate  and  love, 

Hope  and  fear,  virtue,  crime, 
Life  and  death,  self  and  time  ; 

Through  the  zone  of  stars  we  range, 
Through  the  shadowy  realms  of  change, 

Past  the  bounds  of  name  and  dream 
Into  one,  the  All-Supreme." 

Then  the  tender,  roseate  shimmer 
Paled  with  tremulous  glow  and  glimmer, 
And  the  air  grew  heavier,  dimmer, 


A    SUMMER  DUE  AM. 

Like  a  palid,  wan  eclipse, 
Like  the  wane  of  dying  lips. 
Clouds  arose  and  hovered,  wandered, 
Swelled  and  lowered,  flashed  and  sundered. 
Lo  !  the  muffled  sether  thundered, 
And  there  came  a  voice  from  far 
Like  the  war-shout  and  evangel 
Of  some  proud  Promethean  angel 
Urging  on  the  faltering  war. 

And  again  the  course  of  day 
Held  its  hot  and  dusty  way. 


THE  SHOOK. 

Last  midnight  in  the  darkness 
I  woke  from  visions  sweet, 

And  heard  upon  my  threshold 
The  tramp  of  thronging  feet. 

There  came  in  long  procession 
All  shoon  I  ever  wore — 

The  stalwart  boot  of  manhood 
The  tiny  shoe  of  yore. 

Downtrodden,  torn,  neglected, 
Laden  with  dust  and  grime, 

Each  bore,  spite  age  and  wrinkle, 
The  spirit  of  its  prime. 

I  could  not  smile  to  see  them, 
All  stiff  and  gaunt  and  hoar, 

In  pantomime  enacting 

The  days  that  are  no  more. 
73 


THE   SHOON.  75 

Some  on  the  floor  went  softly 

With  timid  steps  and  small, 
Some  with  an  antic  canter 

That  shook  the  steadfast  wall. 

And  some  with  restless  longing 

Turned  to  the  stars  above, 
And  some  were  still  pursuing 

The  hopes,  the  dreams  of  love. 

And  near  them,  gayly  falling, 

Like  airy  flakes  of  snow, 
Were  silken  shoon, — to  hear  them 

Was  rapture  long  ago. 

And  some — ah  !  there  were  many — 

Went  pacing  to  and  fro  ; — 
Their  lonely  shadows  darkened 

O'er  years  of  doubt  and  woe. 

A  few — I  scarcely  knew  them 

They  were  not  shoon  of  yore — 
With  footsteps  small  and  timid 
They  tottered  o'er  the  floor. 


THE   SHOON.  77 

All  stopped  where  hung  my  bootjack 

And  parleyed  low  and  long, 
The  ancient  jack  descended 

And  mingled  'mong  the  throng. 

Then  went  in  long  procession 

All  shoon  I  ever  wore 
Leading  the  ancient  bootjack 

From  out  the  lonely  door. 

And  shadows  dark  and  silent 

Are  closing  o'er  the  light 
That  lingers  round  their  pathway 

Far  in  the  depths  of  night. 


SHADOWS  OF  ROMANCE. 

When  the  sweet  air  of  youth 

Is  beautiful  with  stars, 
And  the  blue  dome  is  bright 

With  the  moon's  golden  bars  ; 

And  earth  gleams  fair  and  strange 
'Neath  the  celestial  fire, 

And  wondrous  murmurs  float 
Down  from  the  heavenly  lyre  ; 

And  o'er  the  joyous  earth 
Visions  of  beauty  dance, 

Through  endless  vistas  chase 
The  shadows  of  romance — 

Oh  let  the  lover  sun 

Awhile  his  coming  stay, 

To  kiss  with  glowing  lips 
This  glorious  dream  away  ! 
79 


SHADOWS  OF  ROMANCE.  8 1 

For  though  his  kiss  shall  bring 
Glory  and  strength  and  light, 

Oh  let  him  leave  awhile 
This  beautiful  delight  ! 


UNCREATED  LIGHT. 

All  the  holiest  light 
Of  the  seraph  eyes  of  night, 
All  imperial  splendors  of  the  sun, 

Of  the  eve  and  morn, 

Leave  my  spirit  lorn  : 

All  the  thoughts  that  lie 

In  the  awful  sky 

Leave  me  in  unrest, 

Leave  me  all  unblest. 

With  all  earth  and  heaven's  wealth  I  am  undone 
If  I  lose  thy  blessing  eyes 
In  whose  cloudless  skies, 
Pure  the  snowy  fountains  rise 
Of  th'  eternal,  uncreated  light. 

Bid  me  to  their  light  ! 

For  all  else  is  night. 


83 


ALONE. 

A  glory  leaves  the  sun  ; 

A  grace  has  left  the  day  ; 
The  stars  return,  but  not  the  light 

That  flushed  their  azure  way. 

For  my  heart's  queen  has  passed 

Into  the  deepening  west ; 
My  heart  is  wild  with  doubt,  and  naught 

Answers  its  lonely  quest. 

The  soaring  eagles  come 

Out  from  the  glowing  sky  ; 
Their  all  beholding  voyage  gives 

No  tidings  nor  reply. 

The  fleet  winds  kiss  her  lips 

And  fly  from  out  the  west  ; 
She  breathes  on  them,  but  they  no  sign 

Yield  to  my  soul's  unrest. 

85 


ALONE.  87 

On  yonder  golden  stars 

Her  royal  eyes  now  turn  ; 
They  gaze  deep  in  her  soul — how  mute, 

And  cold,  and  calm  they  burn  ! 

O  Seraphim  that  bend 

Your  flight  from  thrones  above, 
Humbly  on  mortal  thoughts  to  tend 

With  ministries  of  love, 

Bear  to  my  soul's  pure  shrine, 

Under  the  western  star, 
The  worship  of  my  soul,  the  vows 

I  breathe,  alone,  afar. 

Bear  to  its  only  home 

This  heart  that  sinks  in  pain  ! 
Oh  bring  me  thence  one  thought,  one  breath, 

To  bid  me  live  again. 

Vain  veil  of  air  !     My  eyes 

Can  almost  pierce  the  screen — 

How  near  my  soul  can  come — alas  ! 
Still  rolls  the  night  between. 


.ENONE. 

Like  a  grand  Asian  queen  upon  her  throne, 

All  glorious  and  opulent  and  bright, 
I  saw  the  goddess-bosomed  queen  JEnone 

Pavilioned  in  the  shadowy  tent  of  night. 
I  saw  the  black  deep  torrents  of  her  hair 

Sweep  like'  a  flood  adown  her  pearly  zone  ; 
Her  snow-white  bust  that  rose  all  wondrous  fair, 
A  heavenly  temple  reared  to  holiest  prayer, 

Fairer  than  all  that  mortals  ere  have  known  : 
Her  cheeks  that  beautiful  as  Hesper  shone  ; 

Lips  like  the  lucent  bows  in  summer  skies, 

As  precious  as  the  gates  of  Paradise  : 
And  her  fair  brow  that  beamed  upon  my  sight 

Like  the  horizon,  glorious,  grave,  divine, 
A  royal  palace  nobly  planned  and  wrought 
For  the  high  pleasure  of  Imperial  Thought. 

I  looked  within  the  mist-like  lids  of  light, 

And  lashes  that  like  clustered  stars  did  shine, 

89 


91 

I  saw  the  heavenly  grandeur  of  her  eyes — 
And  all  as  one  my  soul's  glad  hosts  did  rise, 

Hasting  their  long-sought,  heaven-crowned  queen 

to  greet, 
Laying  their  eternal  homage  at  her  feet. 


THE  SACRAMENT  OF  LOVE. 

Why  all  this  vast  array, 

So  beautiful  and  bright  ; 
The  gorgeous  teeming  day, 

The  solemn  domed  night  ! 
Why  doth  fair  Nature  come 

With  all  her  countless  throng, 
'Neath  heaven's  temple  dome, 

Chanting  her  wond'rous  song  ? 

The  glorious  sun, 

And  all  the  shining  zone 
That  overspans  night's  firmament, 

Are  lit  for  this  intent, 
And  this  alone  : 

Are  all  for  Love's  high  sacrament. 

From  sun  and  starry  urn 
That  like  firm  censers  burn, 
93 


THE   SACRAMENT  OF  LOVE.  95 

The  incense  clouds  that  pour, 
Rainbow  laden, 
Breathing  Aidenn, 
Down  to  earth's  floor, — 
All  come  for  this  intent, 
To  grace  Love's  sacrament. 

All  Nature's  voices — every  tone — 

Hymn  this,  and  this  alone  ! 
All  chorals  of  the  land, 

The  fountains,  streams,  the  sea, 
The  shells  upon  the  strand, 

In  this  one  song  agree  ; 
For  this  the  eves  and  morns, 

In  glory  come  and  go, 
And  ever  their  wild  horns 

The  air's  gay  heralds  blow  ; 
Clouds  on  their  errands  flee 

With  pitying  shade  and  showers  ; 
And  plant  and  soaring  tree 

Wave  to  the  cheering  skies 
Their  rapturous  replies  ; 

And  all  the  hosts  of  flowers, 


THE   SACRAMENT  OF  LOVE.  97 

Blessing  with  holy  eyes 
The  happy  nuptial  hours, 

Answer  to  the  stars  above 

VVith  benisons  of  love  ; 
All  for  this  high  intent— 
To  celebrate  Love's  Sacrament. 


SONG  OF  KILCARE  COTTAGE. 

'T  is  a  lodge  in  the  mountains  of  Warwick, 
And  like  hermits  of  eld  we  live  there  ; 
The  world  rushes  by 
But  we  heed  not  its  cry, 
At  our  lodge  on  the  hills  of  Kilcare. 

By  the  tent  of  the  green,  oaken  woodlands, 
The  dream  of  the  days  glideth  fair  ; 

Sailing  clouds  are  our  books, 

And  our  music  the  brooks 
That  leap  down  the  rocks  of  Kilcare. 

Sweet  scenes  !     What  Delectable  Mountains 

With  these  heights  and  these  lakes  can  compare  ? 

How  the  echoes  out-ring 

Every  viva  we  sing 
To  the  beautiful  hills  of  Kilcare  ! 

99 


SONG  OF  KILCARE   COTTAGE.  IOI 

The  stars,  how  they  climb  to  our  eyrie  ! 
Like  pilgrims  they  come,  gay  and  fair, 
And  they  fill  all  the  nights 
With  their  lofty  delights, 
On  the  beautiful  hills  of  Kilcare. 

They  pass,  and  go  down  in  the  valley — 
We  stay  not  their  steps  with  our  prayer, 

For  they  carry  dull  woe 
To  the  shadows  below, 

From  the  beautiful  hills  of  Kilcare. 

The  winds  rustle  over  the  woodlands, 
Like  coursers  their  feet  beat  the  air, 
Their  breath,  filled  with  balms, 
Dispels  the  dull  calms 
From  the  beautiful  hills  of  Kilcare. 

They  pass,  like  life's  visions — nor  seek  we 
The  charm  once  dissolved  to  repair, 
But  we  trill  a  gay  rhyme 
For  the  odors  of  thyme 
They  leave  on  the  hills  of  Kilcare. 


SONG  OF  KILCARE   COTTAGE.  103 

The  sun,  at  the  earliest  dawning, 
Comes  forth  from  his  palace  of  air, 
And  throws  his  first  kiss 
To  the  beauty  and  bliss 
He  finds  on  the  hills  of  Kilcare. 

All  day,  at  the  door  of  his  palace, 
He  stands,  gazing  down  to  his  fair  ; 

His  loving  looks  say  : 

Oh  forever  to  stay 
On  the  beautiful  hills  of  Kilcare  ! 

At  evening,  in  gold  and  in  purple, 
He  goes — and  we  ask  him  not  where, 
For  true  love  may  part, 
And  still  glow  in  the  heart, 
On  the  beautiful  hills  of  Kilcare. 

'T  is  a  lodge  by  the  woodlands  of  Warwick, 
And  like  hermits  of  eld  we  live  there  ; 
The  world  rushes  by 
But  we  heed  not  its  cry, 
At  our  lodge  on  the  hills  of  Kilcare. 


SUNBEAM  AND  ROSE. 

A  sunbeam,  flying  from  the  eve, 
Paused  by  a  rose,  its  beauty  seeing, 

And  sighed  :  How  sweet  therein  to  live, 
Did  other  beams  not  fill  its  being  ! 

In  grief  he  spread  his  wings  of  light 
And  onward  passed,  to  wander  ever  ; 

But  sweet  throughout  his  endless  flight 
The  rose's  fragrance  breathes  for  ever. 


105 


WHEN  DO  THE  FLOWERS  DIE? 

When  do  the  flowers  die  ? 
Not  when  the  diadems 
Crowning  the  tender  stems 

Grow  sere  and  dry  ; 
Not  when  the  ripened  reeds 
Fall  with  the  golden  seeds, 

And  mouldering  lie. 

When  do  the  flowers  die  ? 
Not  when  the  waking  germs 
Fall  to  the  demon  worms  ; 

Nor  when  the  eyes 
That  the  sweet  buds  enfold 
Drop  in  the  darksome  mould, 

No  more  to  rise. 

But  the  bright  flowers  expire, 
When  from  their  gentle  souls 
Love's  fragrant  breath  outrolls 

Like  balmy  fire  ; 
When  their  pure  passionate  sighs 
In  clouds  of  incense  rise 
Blessing  all  earth  and  skies, 

Then  they  expire. 
107 


FIRST  OF  THE  YELLOW  LEAVES. 

Ere  frosts  and  storms  have  come, 
The  warm  South  wind    that    breathed  upon   thy 

birth, 
First  of  the  yellow  leaves  !  hath  borne  thee  home 

Upon  the  quickening  earth. 

While  yet  the  skies  are  warm, 
And  warm  and  bright  the  clouds  in  summer's  sky, 
Ere  thy  green  resting-place  hath  lost  a  charm, 

Thou  goest  mid  flowers  to  lie. 

So  they  who  ere  life's  sky 
With  coming  woes  and  cares  is  overcast 
Drop  gently  from  the  ranks  which  bye-and-bye 

Shall  fall  with  many  a  blast. 


109 


THE  BRAVE  OLD  BANNER. 

Huzza  !  the  brave  old  Banner 
Moves  on  its  conquering  way  ! 

Its  foes  go  down  like  shadows 
Before  the  blaze  of  day  ! 

Oh  mark  its  glorious  coming 
Above  the  stormy  fight ! 

The  Bow  of  Heaven's  Blessing  : 
The  stars  of  Truth  and  Right  ! 

What  shouts  and  tears  of  gladness, 
When  the  blest  vision  comes  ! 

How  thrill  the  brave  to  see  it 
Unfurl  above  their  homes  ! 

Sun  of  all  joy  to  freemen  ! 

Bright  glory  of  the  sky  ! 
Pledge  to  the  slave  and  exile, 

Of  hopes  that  shall  not  die  ! 


THE  BRAVE   OLD  BANNER.  113 

Speed  on  thy  course  triumphant  ! 

The  thrones  of  despots  fall, 
Thy  lightnings  rive  the  shackles, 

And  men  are  brothers  all. 

Wave  in  thy  glorious  splendor  ! 

O'er  earth  thou  e'er  shalt  roll, 
While  a  star  illumes  the  heavens, 

And  a  noble  hope  the  soul  ! 


LIBERTY  ENLIGHTENING  THE  WORLD. 

(THE  BARTHOLDI  STATUE.) 

When  darkness  girds  the  land 

And  grasps  the  sea, 
I  lift  my  iron  hand 

To  set  them  free. 

I  smite  the  front  of  Night, 

Demon  of  Death, 
I  lift  the  living  light 

To  show  the  Path. 

O  blinded  men,  behold 

The  guiding  ray  ! 
See  and  be  ever  bold  ! 

Give  reason  sway  ! 
115 


LIBERTY  ENLIGHTENING  THE  WORLD 

Cast  off  the  slavish  chain 
From  hand  and  thought, 

Be  lords  of  your  domain, 
Unbound,  unbought. 

Heed  not  the  curse  or  ban, 

Doubt  not,  but  know 
That  Heaven's  utmost  span 

And  earth  below 

Were  based  and  built  in  Light 

And  Liberty, 
And  ever  Light  makes  Right 

And  Right  makes  Free. 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  SHADOWS. 

Has  the  eternal  sorrow  come  at  last  ? 

Has  the  long  twilight  deepened  into  night  ? 
Is  the  sweet  joy  of  day  forever  past  ? 

Has  the  great  sun  forever  quenched  his  light  ? 

Where  is  the  faithful  wakener  of  the  day  ? 

Is  his  voice  sealed  in  an  eternal  sleep  ? 
Where  does  the  herald  star  of  morn  delay  ? 

Quenched  are  his  beams  forever  in  the  deep  ? 

Can  the  great  sun  of  hope  no  more  appear  ? 

Is  there  no  star  to  light  these  rayless  hours  ? 
Is  there  no  spring  in  the  eternal  year, 

To  lull  the  sad  heart's  pain  with  wind  and  flowers  ? 

O  ruthless  fate  !  to  mine  the  answering  eyes, 
The  light  of  life's  high  noon,  have  never  shone, 

Nor  love's  sweet  breath  has  lapped  in  paradise 
This  weary  heart,  here  exiled  and  alone. 
119 


IN  THE   VALLEY  OF  SHADOWS.  121 

Shall  it  be  never  mine  to  wear  the  crown, 
To  taste  the  godlike  joy  of  victories  won  ? 

But  to  the  caverns  of  the  dead  go  down 
While  the  proud  venture  is  but  just  begun  : 

Like  ye,  fond  flowers,  that  in  your  sunny  path 
Fall  ere  ye  reach  the  autumn's  golden  prize  ; 

Like  ye,  O  gems,  that  in  the  gloom  of  death, 
Waste  ere  ye  once  have  seen  the  glorious  skies  ; 

Like  ye,  O  winds  and  clouds,  that  blow 
To  far-off  lighter  regions  of  the  day  ; 

Like  ye,  glad  waves,  that  to  the  ocean  flow 
And  ever  waste  and  perish  by  the  way  ? 

For  her  vast  harvest  lavish  nature  sows 
Alike  all  regions  of  her  wide  domain  ; 

Some  in  the  meadow  fair  and  lordly  grow 
Some  in  the  desert  strive  and  pine  in  vain. 

The  golden  issue  of  her  mighty  plan 
No  niggard  thrifts  imperil  or  impair  ; 

Lavish  with  world  and  plant  and  beast  and  man, 
Her  boundless  victories  her  only  care. 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  SHADOWS.  123 

Down  the  still  lapses  of  this  restful  gloom 
Lit  by  your  closing  eyes,  O  hapless  flowers  ! 

'Mid  idle  airs  yet  warm  with  your  perfume, 
Calmly  I  near  death's  shadowy  silent  bowers. 


SIVA,   DESTROYER. 

Whose  voice  shall  say  him  nay  ? 
Whose  arm  shall  bar  his  way  ? 
Lord  of  unbounded  sway  ! — 
Siva,  Destroyer. 

Proud  kings,  whose  lightest  breath 
To  men  is  life  or  death, 
Heeds  he  your  ruth  or  wrath  ? — 
Siva,  Destroyer. 

Mother  with  bleeding  breast 
Bowed  o'er  thy  birdling's  nest, 
Shall  thy  last  woe  arrest 
Siva,  Destroyer? 

Maiden  with  eyes  of  love 
Fixed  on  the  heaven  above, 
Hast  thou  a  prayer  to  move 
Siva,  Destroyer? 
125 


SIVA,   DESTROYER. 

Youth  of  the  lion  heart, 
Brave  for  life's  noblest  art, 
Shall  fame's  fair  glory  thwart 
Siva,  Destroyer  ? 

Earth  in  thy  sweet  array, 
Bride  of  celestial  day, 
Hast  thou  one  bloom  to  stay 
Siva,  Destroyer  ? 

Stars  on  the  dome  of  night, 
Climbing  to  your  far  height 
Do  ye  escape  his  might  ? — 
Siva,  Destroyer. 

What  voice  shall  say  him  nay, 
What  arm  shall  bar  his  way, 
Lord  of  unbounded  sway  ! — 
Siva,  Destroyer. 


TRIBUTES. 


tributes  to  tbe  /IDemorp  of 
(Beorcie 


His  summons  came  when  in  his  passing  prime 
He  turned  his  face  to  view  the  setting  sun, 
The  garnering  of  his  harvest  scarce  begun 

While  yet  far  heard  the  reapers'  echoing  chime  ; 

But  still  with  manly  step  he  mated  Time, 

Sought  for  the  good  the  hurrying  moments  spun, 
Scattered  abroad  again  the  treasures  won, 

And  rounded  life  to  large  eternal  rhyme. 

Ah  !  we  whose  hearts  rebuke  the  empty  place, 
Who  felt  his  worth,  and  more,  who  loved  him  so — 

We  yet  must  speed  his  flight  at  morning  call  : 
For  mighty  souls  who  throng  unbounded  space 
And  whisper  mighty  thoughts  to  us  below, 
Do  cry  him  Welcome  :  he  was  kin  to  all. 

Kate  Elizabeth  Clark. 


13* 


Siva,  Destroyer  !     Thus  he  wrote 

Addressing  Death,  in  Death's  embrace, - 

The  while  not  one  complaining  note 
Made  discord  in  his  life  of  grace  : 

A  life  so  lifted,  so  ideal, 

It  raised  and  glorified  the  real. 

His  spirit's  wing  now  drops  the  stress 
Of  knightly  warfare,  waged  anew 

With  each  day's  birth,  'gainst  fruitlessness 
Of  art-work  to  its  art  untrue  : 

We  singers  singing  at  the  gate, 

Shall  long  such  warrior-friend  await. 

Nor  we  alone  are  losers  ;  they 

Who  profited  unconsciously 
By  virtue  of  his  standard's  sway 

In  social  ethics,  these  shall  be 
133 


TRIBUTES.  135 

Made  mourners  too,  for  one  to  fill 
His  place  of  power  with  equal  will. 

Whoso  but  knew  him  slightly,  knew 
But  little  of  his  charm  unique  ; 

His  playful  irony,  his  true 
And  gentle  manhood  ;  some  high  peak 

Snow-mantled,  radiant  to  the  rim 

With  rosy  light,  might  figure  him. 

Yet  mountain,  pine,  or  anything 
Less  sentient  than  the  human  soul 

In  its  divineness  fails  to  bring 

This  man  before  us.  ...  Only  dole 

With  us  remains.     Siva,  with  thee 

He  dies  to  bloom  eternally  ! 

Mary  Barker  Dodge. 


A  seal  upon  a  heart  was  set 

Of  ample  purity  and  truth  ; 
Its  break  had  made  the  world  forget 

That  aught  on  earth  remained  of  ruth. 

A  kindlier  heart  than  that,  O  Friend, 
Ne'er  burned  within  a  poet's  breast. 
Though  now  that  heart  is  stilled  in  rest, 

'T  is  not  the  end,  't  is  not  the  end  ! 

To  many  free  to  wander  far, 

His  generous  lamp  had  lent  its  ray, 

To  be  to  happier  paths  a  star  ; 
But  his  the  sterner,  darker  way. 

The  ore  his  labor  delved  from  earth 
He  gave  to  others  far  from  care, 
To  wear  as  jewels  in  their  hair  ; 

He  walked  aside  in  unknown  worth. 


TRIBUTES.  139 

His  daily  task  a  spirit  bound 

That  would  have  spread  its  glorious  wing 
And  soared  in  flights  from  common  ground 

To  sing  in  realms  where  poets  sing. 

But  daily  to  dull  labor  bent 

He  gave  his  life.     Then  passed  to  where 
A  spirit,  proud  to  be  content, 

May  wear  the  crown  that  angels  wear. 

Louise  Morgan  Sill. 


Ye  winter  winds,  that  sigh  and  moan 

O'er  desecrated  forest  aisles  ! 

O  wild  lamenters  of  the  smiles 
That  for  too  brief  a  season  shone  ! 

Ye  rude,  harsh-throated  chanters  !  share 
With  us  the  burden  of  a  grief 
That  in  your  terror  seeks  relief — 

On  your  grim  wings  our  sorrow  bear  ! 

Yea,  'midst  your  clarion-blatant  wails, 

Echoes  of  frigid  Arctic  shrieks, 

Lifted  where  the  aurora  wreaks 
Its  ghostly  gleams  on  frozen  sails  ! 

Yea,  'midst  the  cruel  tones  of  woe, 

Which  surge  across  your  harps'  loud  strings, 
Your  harps,  whereto  the  salt  rime  clings 

Dashed  o'er  them  from  some  wave-tossed  floe  ! 
141 


TRIBUTES.  143 

Yea,  'midst  the  fury  of  a  flight 

That  desolates,  at  one  sharp  sweep, 
The  lingering  lovely  hues  asleep 

On  clouds  about  the  gate  of  night ! 

Yea,  carry  with  you  from  our  hearts 
A  pittance  of  their  anguished  pain  ! 
A  whisper  through  the  skyey  main, 

Where  the  electric  glory  darts  ! 

Ah,  let  us  in  your  tumult  find 

A  note  of  solace,  which  shall  swell 
Triumphant  o'er  the  muffled  knell 

Whose  snare  about  our  souls  is  twined  ! 

Yea,  of  your  very  rage  we  ask 

Strength  to  outbreast  the  bitter  wave  : 
Death  to  this  Spirit  new  Life  gave  ; 

And  Darkness  is  but  Morning's  mask  ! 

William  Struthers, 


SANTA  CRUZ,  CAL.,  FEB.  16,  '89. 

Ever  Dear  Home  Journal. — At  the  time  that  I 
saw  the  news  of  Mr.  Perry's  death  in  your  columns 
I  was  unable  to  tell  you  of  my  sorrow,  as  I  was 
then  temporarily  crippled  in  my  right  hand. 

Even  at  this  later  date,  the  feeling  of  painful 
shock  with  which  I  saw  those  ominous  black  lines 
darkening  your  pages  and  read  the  sad  short  story 
of  his  sudden  going  out  for  ever  from  the  familiar 
place  that  had  so  long  known  him,  is  still  fresh  with 
me.  The  fact  that  I  am  so  far  away  does  n't  matter 
in  this  respect ;  for  to  think  of  No.  3  Park  Place, 
and  that  familiar  nook  inside  of  it,  sacred  to  you, 
is  impossible  without  at  once  thinking  too  of  George 
Perry,  and  remembering  that  I  can  never  again 
mount  the  well-known  stairs  and  make  my  way  to 
a  certain  corner  and  find,  as  I  have  always  found 
before,  seated  at  his  desk,  your  good  genius,  of  the 


TRIBUTES.  147 

calm  and  benignant  presence,  ever  ready  to  take 
into  the  shelter  of  his  generous  wing  the  shamefaced 
and  diffident  author  new  to  the  ways  of  editors  ; 
and  to  give  abundant  encouragement  if  there  should 
be  the  least  spark  of  poetic  promise  to  be  blown 
into  a  flame — it  might  be  but  a  very  little  flame 
perhaps,  but  he  never  failed  to  lend  it  his  fostering 
breath.  How  many  have  reason  to  bless  his  good 
offices  in  this  respect,  we  shall  never  know  ;  nor 
shall  we  ever  know  how  many  there  are  who  sorely 
miss  them  and  will  always  carry  the  memory  of  his 
thoughtful  kindness  and  polished  graciousness  in 
their  hearts. 

But  of  them  all,  was  there  ever  one,  here  and 
there,  who  even  partially  understood  how  delicate 
and  rare  was  the  spirit  that  bent  itself  to  the  daily 
bondage  of  office  work  ?  His  physical  stature  and 
presence  well  betokened  the  superiority  of  the  inner 
man. 

This  I  sit  here  and  ponder  over,  as  I  read  the 
selections  from  his  poems,  which  you  have  fitly 
given  the  most  prominent  place  in  your  columns  of 
February  the  sixth.  Every  one  of  the  many  who 


TRIBUTES.  149 

knew  and  loved  George  Perry  will  be  glad  that  you 
have  done  this,  and  I  must  be  of  the  foremost 
among  those  who  thank  you  for  this  last  sad 
pleasure  in  connection  with  our  memories  of  him  ; 
for  the  relationship  between  us  of  editor  and  con- 
tributor, though  infrequent  and  irregular — ripening 
slowly  into  an  unbroken  friendship — began  about 
the  time  that  N.  P.  Willis  left  that  vacant  chair  in 
the  Home  Journal  office  ;  some  of  my  very  first 
bread-and-butter-y  efforts  having  been  submitted  to 
Mr.  Perry.  What  a  revelation  those  poems  will  be 
to  many  who  thought  they  knew  him  !  now  that  he, 
to  use  his  own  words,  is 

' '  freed 

From  thrall  of  thought  and  deed  ;  " 
and  has  gone 

"  Past  the  bounds  of  name  and  dream 

Into  one,  the  All-Supreme  !  " 

"  Howard  Glyndon." 
(Mrs.  Laura  R.  Searing.) 


DATE  DUE 


Q  0   13QQ 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA      000204218    2 


